Beginners
by Spectering
Summary: It's just the beginning but they both have a lot to learn.
_**This takes place after the season 5 finale a few months later. I'm not exactly sure where I want to go with this or what I want to do with this. It's not necessarily a one shot, but it can be. I don't want it to be a one shot. I want this to be the beginning of a fic, but I'm still debating on what. I have an idea of what I want it to be and maybe it will just grow from there.**_

* * *

Harvey's been doing things a lot differently lately. That in large part has to do with his new girlfriend. She has him rethinking the structure of his life, especially since Mike went to prison and the firm became an abandoned sinking ship. He felt the guilt even though Jessica had never outright blamed him, but she took responsibility for her decision. Which was admirable – stupid, but admirable.

His new girlfriend, she had been there to pick up the pieces just as she always had. She'd comforted him and wouldn't let him shoulder the blame all on his own. He found himself more drawn to her than he had ever been. When he'd asked her why she was still there for him, she'd looked at him and told him because she liked him and she loved him. He couldn't help kissing her.

It's only been 3 months since they started officially dating, but he's meeting her friends for the first time. He's both nervous and excited to meet them after 13 years of knowing her. He kind of always expected that he'd run into them at one point or another but, New York is surprisingly large for such a small city. The only times he's ever run into her have been on purpose.

He's half a step behind her as they walk to the restaurant. He takes in a pointed view of her appearance, a black dress teetering on the verge of too short for his liking that shows a little bit too much skin no doubt to make him squirm just a little bit more, and a pair of heels that make her at least two inches taller. He feels a little underdressed in his khaki pants and a blue sweater compared to her, which is a rare occasion for him.

"Have you ever met your girlfriend's friends?" She asks him.

She's almost walking too fast for him to keep up. He spots the sign for the restaurant just across the walkway at the light and reaches for her hand. He turns her back towards him and offers her a small smile while shaking his head. She smirks in return.

"Oh, you're in for a treat," she says challengingly, "They're going to eat you alive."

"Donna, you're worth it," he replies.

He lifts a hand to her jaw and leans in to give her a kiss. His lips slide against her slightly parted lips, and he can't help the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. His life expectancy has certainly increased since he started kissing her every day. Her hair wraps around his fingertips and he welcomes the warmth of her.

"What was that for?" She asks as he pulls back.

"Because I wanted to," he answers, "And because I can."

"Good answer," she says. He slides his hand down her arm and tilts at an angle. He presses his hand into the small of her back in encouragement for them to proceed towards the restaurant. They make it to the corner of the street and she teeters back on her heels, looking over at him. She says, "They're not going to go easy on you, you know that, right?"

"I'm sure they'll like me better than _Mitchell_ ," he counters, saying her ex-boyfriend's name with a mimicking disdain. He still thinks about how that guy swooped in when she was vulnerable and took advantage of her. He wants to beat the shit out of the guy. "He was a dick."

"He was perfectly fine," she mutters, "a bit of a pushover, but he was nice."

"Alright," he mumbles, "We won't get into this now. But he was just a rebound from me."

He throws his shoulders back and stands a little taller. He slips his hand into hers then and pulls her closer to his side before the white walk symbol lights up. They must be the only people in New York obeying traffic laws right now. He looks over at her to gauge her reaction just in time to see her roll her eyes and laugh.

"You're lucky I love you," she replies.

His grin widens. He says, "True."

They finally cross the street at a steady pace and pass a few other shops before they reach the restaurant doors. He circles her bicep with his right hand and moves behind her to reach for the door. His right hand slides down her back and over her waistline before he pulls the door open, turns on his heel, and motions for her to go through first. He's discovered that he takes every opportunity to touch her that he gets but he can tell she likes it by the dorky smile painted across her features. It almost looks permanent on her these days and he likes it – a lot.

She leads him to a table in the back corner of the restaurant. The table is rather large, seats about 8, maybe 10 if everyone packs together. He notes that there are only 3 empty chairs as everyone at the table seems to scream her name simultaneously. Her smile widens which prompts him to grin.

"Hey guys," she says to the table, setting her purse on the ground by a chair and removing her jacket. He follows her lead, removing his own jacket and hanging it on the chair beside hers. She turns to him and gently places her hand on his forearm, sliding her gaze back to the fresh faces. "This is Harvey."

"So you're the Harvey we've heard so much about," the gentleman on the other side of Donna says, extending a hand for Harvey to take.

He presses his left hand against Donna's back and reaches over his arm to shake the man's hand. He says, "I can only imagine all of the things you've heard."

"You were right," a woman across the table says to Donna, "He _is_ good-looking."

"Don't flatter him," Donna counters with a laugh.

He shakes his head carefully as a blush touches his cheeks. Something about the idea of her telling people she thinks he's attractive making him feel warm. She could have told them at any point in the last 13 years and that thought alone makes his hand gravitate to her hip. Her hand circles his wrist as she moves around to the chair to take a seat. He instinctively slides her chair forward before taking a seat himself.

He angles his chair towards hers, absently extending his foot until it gently comes into contact with her white Jimmy Choo heels. She shoots him a warning look and he knows exactly what she means – she doesn't want there to be a scuff mark on her expensive white shoes. That he bought her. He gives her a small nod in acknowledgement.

"So, Harvey," the man whose hand he shook not too long ago starts, "What made you finally decide to stop stringing our Donna along?"

"Me," he says with a laugh, looking right at Donna, "I think we both know it was you who was stringing me along."

"Whatever," she replies dismissively.

"You're the one who came to work in those dresses," he says, leaning towards her, "I remember distinctly there was this one time you wore this blue dress, you had your hair up, and you kept licking whipped cream off of your fingers while staring at me. You were such a tease."

"Ok, I did do that," she relents.

"See? Like I said, you were stringing me along," he replies decidedly. The rest of the table echoes some soft _oh_ 's and hums while looking at her accusingly. He smirks, leaning back in his chair again. "You wanted me to fuck you but told me that I couldn't."

"Harvey!" She screeches warningly, the faintest hints of a smile on her mouth. She hits him on the leg. He laughs and catches her hand. He pulls her towards him just a little as he leans forward to be closer to her. "That's so inappropriate."

He shrugs it off with a grin. He rests his elbows on his knees and covers her hand with both of his, allowing himself to take in all of the moments he has with her. He's finally so enamored by a person that he doesn't care whose watching, something he thought would never happen to him. She doesn't seem to be bothered by him. He figures after all of the years she's had to put up with him, it would only be expected. He still thinks he's making it all up sometimes.

"May I get you something to drink?" The waiter asks him and Donna.

"I would like a Manhattan," she tells the younger man. She squeezes Harvey's hand as he turns her palm over in his, absently entwining their fingers together. She looks over at him and he shrugs. She says, "He'll have a Mojito."

The waiter looks at him and he nods his approval. He normally doesn't drink mixed drinks but she's really encouraged him to branch out. He likes the drinks she picks for him. She expands his palate and mixes their tastes a little bit. He glances at the table and notes that they are all watching on like they are testing him.

The waiter wanders off to gather their drinks and he feels her hand push further up his arm, her fingers trickling at his wrist. He loosens his grasp on her to let her pull her arm free. She places her other elbow on the tabletop and rests her chin in her hand. He can't stop looking at her – he's not really surprised by this. She's always demanded his attention.

"How are you going to work together now?" Someone asks.

He slowly registers that someone has asked a question. He lifts his head and scans the table to see who might have asked the question. There are 5 other people there besides them, 2 men and 3 women. He sits upright, dragging his fingers over her skin until his fingertips hook around her fingertips, and he lets his hand linger there for a moment.

"We make it work," Donna says, looking over at him.

"But seeing each other constantly…" a blonde woman beside the man whose hand he shook baits.

"We know each other," he says with a shrug, "And we wouldn't be doing this if we didn't like each other."

"If I had to be with you all day and all night, I would kill you, Michael," the blonde woman says to the man that shook Harvey's hand. Michael just chuckles in response.

"We went a long time making sure things stayed one way," Donna clarifies. She reaches for him with her free hand, pushing off of the table and leaning back in her seat. He scoots his chair a little closer to hers and he takes her hand again. "Now we can just be together."

He expels a breath, feeling comforted by the fact that she can't seem to stop touching him either. He wonders if she had been nervous for him to meet them too. He can tell that she's comfortable but also wants to make sure that he knows she wants him there. He doesn't need all of her attention, but he certainly isn't complaining about getting it.

He offers her a soft smile, squeezing her hand before he leans back in his seat again. He swallows and asks, "So, how does everyone know Donna?"

"Well," Michael starts, "Donna and I used to date before I married her best friend here."

His face falters, he feels it, and he tries to ignore Donna expelling a breath to cover her amusement. He never liked hearing about her boyfriends, current or otherwise, but that's what he gets for not ignoring her stupid rules. She must sense his annoyance at the breaking news because she leans closer to him and lowers her hand to his knee.

"She didn't like him very much anyway," the blonde adds, "She had a crush on this jerk from her office."

He feigns a smile there, knowing that the woman is joking. He wonders how long they've all known about Donna being in love with him. If they always knew then no wonder they would hate him. His face suddenly falls, making Donna look at him with furrowed eyebrows.

"Wait a second," he mutters, "She told you she had a crush on me?"

"Don't look at me," Donna says, lifting her hands into the air to gesture she has no idea what they are talking about, "I didn't tell them anything."

"She didn't have to tell us," another woman with black hair and olive skin speaks up across the table. He thinks she's the one who called him good-looking earlier but he can't be sure. He wishes he knew all of their names, not that he'd remember them anyway. He's always had Donna to remember names for him. "She was really good at hiding it for a while, but the first time she said your name it became really obvious."

"It did not," Donna says in a childlike voice. He's always liked her defensive tone of voice, like he's gotten under her skin and he's been able to rouse her a bit. He likes knowing he can affect her, likes the shape her mouth takes. "I was not pining after him. I was not pining after you."

She's looking at him now. He smirks and reaches over to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. He says, "I know, babe. You were trying to make me be in love with other women."

"I just wanted you to be happy," she replies gently.

He absently wonders if he should kiss her. He wants to kiss her. There would be the added bonus of making everyone else jealous because he gets to kiss her. He never wants to let anyone else kiss her again. He thinks ' _fuck it_ ' and leans forward to give her a brief kiss. She responds to his affection equally, the curve of her smile hugging the curve of his smile.

"Oh please," another man at the table practically yells, throwing Harvey back in his seat just a little, "Every time you said his name you would get this really introspective look and go quiet for like thirty seconds."

"Don't be dramatic," Donna replies.

"Honey, you know drama is my forte," the guy says.

Harvey pieces it together then. The man bantering with his girlfriend is Aaron. He was in her drama class in college and they've stayed friends ever since. He's heard about Aaron, very few things, but enough to spot the drama gene that could rival Donna's. Her words, not his. He doesn't actually think anyone has the flare for dramatics more than her. Michael is married to Clara. Donna was the maid of honor at their wedding. He remembers now because that was the week from hell. Their destination wedding had Donna out of the office for a week and he felt like he was falling apart. He doesn't have a clue who the other 2 women are.

"I don't know," Donna says, voice dripping with that tinge of tease, "Harvey delivers a killer monologue."

"You don't have the proof," he mutters in response.

"Or do I?" She challenges. He narrows his gaze at her then, challenging her to back down. Instead she pushes her distracting breasts forward and smirks while arching her eyebrow. She's going toe to toe with him and he can't remember the last time he won a battle of the wills with her. He just hopes she doesn't have the video anymore. She relents, finally – thankfully, because he was about to crack. "I'll delete it from the cloud."

"Christ," he says in the back of his throat. "Couldn't you record my _Goodfellas_ monologue at least?"

"Ooh, role play," she immediately responds.

He rolls his eyes in return, turning his attention back to the table. They've probably heard more about Donna's kinks than he has considering they don't talk about their sexual histories with one another. They agreed it was probably for the best after all of the years of torturing themselves. The last thing he wants to hear about is her having sex with Raul from accounting in the library like it's a weird game of sexual clue.

"Do you guys play boss and secretary?" Clara ventures teasingly.

"I think I saw that movie," Donna replies.

"I think we watched that together," he adds. He smirks gently, reaching for her again. His fingers tap against her exposed thigh, palm flattening against her skin. He squeezes just above her knee, not really thinking, and it causes her leg to jolt. He visibly cringes in response and offers her a quiet apology.

"So, Harvey," Clara starts, "Do you have any children?"

"Do you?" He counters.

Donna shoots him a warning glare but he just shrugs in response. If they would subject him to such questions, they should be subjected themselves. Donna visibly sighs, her shoulders flopping forward, and he knows that she thinks he made a fair point.

"We have one. He'll be three in June," Michael answers.

"I have two nephews and a brand new niece," he supplies, "But I don't have my own children."

"How did two incredibly attractive people make it into their forties without having children?" The girl beside Aaron asks.

"Safe sex?" Donna says, her voice laced with a mocking judgment. "Harvey here is kind of selfish. He couldn't look after another living thing."

"Excuse me," he interjects, "I took care of you when you were sick last weekend."

"That was an alcohol induced sickness," she corrects, "And those are ugly when you're **_almost_** forty." She looks directly at her friend who implied she was 40 and sticks her tongue out at her. He laughs at how adorable her childish taunting is.

"That's what happens when you lose count of how many shots you've had," he reminds her, "And I passed your test. That cactus is alive and well."

"Fair point," she concedes. She wraps her hand around his wrist beneath the table, a slight smile resting on her mouth. He has always loved being the reason she smiles.

The waiter brings them their drinks, mixing up the Manhattan and the Mojito. She takes a sip of his before handing it over to him. She has a tiny dribble on the corner of her mouth that entices him. He catches her when she's vulnerable, his fingers spreading across her back as his fingertips tease the ends of her hair, and he kisses her at the corner of her mouth. He revels in the sweet taste of the drink she'd ordered for him. It tastes sweeter from her mouth.

He smirks when he pulls away from her, lifting his left ankle to his right knee and leaning back into his chair. The rest of the table is idly chatting in a conversation about what he presumes to be theatre. He knows more about theatre than they think. His undergrad was philosophy, which demanded him to read a lot of mythology. Mythology is the root of law and order. Besides, he's known Donna for so long that she's kept him on his toes. He's seen her perform more times than even she knows.

She sighs softly, looking over at him as she rests her forearm on his inner thigh. Her hand wraps around his kneecap, thumb sweeping over the threads of his khaki pants. His left knee is half relaxing on her lap. He delves his fingers into her hair at the nape of her neck, a distraction from the light arguing going on at the other side of the table.

She lifts her left hand to his fingers at the nape of her neck, threading their fingers and pulling his arm more across her shoulders. She releases his hand and reaches for the food menu. He leans more towards her, grabbing the other side of the menu so he can look at it over her shoulder. His eyes quickly scan the options.

"I'm guessing you want the _Cheese Sampler_ ," he mutters.

"Of course," she replies cheekily, "And you want the _Grilled Ribeye_. I'll get the _Roasted Half Chicken_."

"You get the white wine and I'll get the red," he agrees.

"Perfect," she says, closing the menu and setting it back on the table in front of her.

He smiles and offers her a firm nod before leaning to press a kiss to her temple. His lips linger there for a few moments, her fingers pulling up his thigh and pushing around his leg. She shivers beneath his touch. He wonders, not for the first time, how he deprived himself of this happiness for so long. He thinks they compliment each other in ways he'd never realized. He spent so much time trying not to think about what it would be like when they are together that now that they are he sometimes thinks he's suffocating her. He loves her more than he ever thought he would love anyone.

"Thank you," he whispers against her skin. He pulls back from her. He notes that her eyes are closed and that she's smiling. She probably doesn't even realize that she's melted in to him. That thought alone makes him smile.

Her eyelids peel open and she looks over at him through her long eyelashes. She rolls her lips together. She asks, "What are you thanking me for?"

"For encouraging me to be happy," he replies gently. Her fingers squeeze his leg, the pads of them pressing into his skin as she reaches for her glass. She offers him a sip from it and he circles his lips around the glass and slurps. She smiles softly and takes a long swig from it. He smacks his lips as the taste spreads over his tongue. "The Mojito is sweeter. Like you."

"You _are_ going soft," she comments.

"Maybe a little," he admits. He pulls his left arm back down to his lap in search of her hand. She meets him halfway, entwining their fingers upon contact and he brushes his thumb over her knuckles.

"Have you thought about children?" One of the unnamed women across the table asks. The woman with black hair beside Aaron seems to be knee deep in an argument about Aphrodite with Aaron while the woman who also has blonde hair is staring straight at him. Surely they all know Donna's stance on children.

He sighs, visibly. He feels like they are quizzing him to see how well he knows the woman who has been the constant in his entire adult life. He looks over at her, purses his lips together for the briefest of moments before he slides his tongue over his lips and looks back at the woman.

He says, "I think we all know Donna is terrified of children."

"I have been around children before," Donna replies like she's trying to convince him to retract his statement, "I went with you to the hospital to see your niece last weekend."

"Oh, right. You stiffened up when you held her," he reminds her with a smirk, "not to mention you drank yourself into oblivion later that day. You thought I wanted a baby and it scared the shit out of you."

"No I didn't," she counters defensively. She gets this look on her face where her eyebrows furrow and mouth hangs slightly agape. He tilts his chin down and lifts his eyebrows. She huffs and looks away from him. She mumbles, "Babies are breakable. I would have too much power for one person to have."

"For what it's worth," he starts, "I think you'd be a great mother if you chose to be. You've been raising me for over thirteen years."

"You have full control over your limbs," she reasons.

He laughs into the back of his throat, squeezing her hand tighter in his. She pulls back from him a bit to lean her chin into her hand and her elbow on the tabletop. He shrugs then, knowing full well that this isn't the time to have a conversation about children, especially since they are still embracing their freedom to be together.

The waiter comes back around and the table places their food order. She released his hand while the waiter was making the rounds, but her fingers are still tapping against his thigh. His own hands are resting in his lap, fingers threaded together like he's doing his damnedest to keep his hands to himself. The table chats idly about some cute thing a baby somewhere did or the newest mainstream thing. He steers clear of the internet outside of what Donna shows him and he's mildly clueless about what they're talking about. He sounds like a perpetual old man even to himself.

"Have you had any auditions?" Clara asks. He wonders when the last time she talked to her best friend was; well, other best friend, besides Rachel.

He slides his gaze over to Donna as she twists her lips into an odd shape. The last time she'd made that face, he had bested her. He smiles wanly, noticing that she's toying with lying to them. He quickly nudges her with his elbow.

"I've been busy," Donna admits.

"Oh, so you've been keeping her too busy?" Aaron says in his direction. Aaron's tone is slightly accusatory.

He defensively shakes his head before reaching towards Donna's hair and lightly touching her head. He swallows, delving his fingers beneath a few strands and looking back at Aaron. He pushes a hair behind her ear and retracts his hand.

He says, "If she wants to go to auditions that's fine with me. She deserves to be happy."

"I _am_ happy," she insists.

"But you want to perform. I'd happily help you do that," he replies.

"So you'd run lines with her?" Emily asks. Donna finally told him the other women's names while everyone else was ordering their meals. Emily is the blonde woman and Jenna has black hair. Jenna called him good-looking when they arrived. He likes Jenna.

"Of course," he mutters, "I'd do anything for her. She knows that. If she wants to quit working at the firm to pursue acting full time then she should. I could sell my apartment. She wouldn't have to worry about anything."

"Wait," Donna says, lifting her hand from his leg and holding it at his chest level; his eyebrows furrow in confusion. He purses his lips and looks at her with a narrowed gaze. He lightly shakes his head in a silent question. "Harvey, it's been three months and you're trying to sell your apartment to take care of me?"

"It's been thirteen years," he corrects.

"We couldn't live together," she retorts.

He gives her that pointed look again, his lips tightening in disbelief. Her wrist rests against the table and it annoys him for some dumb reason. He says, "We practically live together now. The last time I went to my apartment was two weeks ago Saturday."

"That's nineteen days," she says aloud but more to herself, "Holy shit."

"It's fiscally responsible to sell my apartment, especially if there isn't a steady second income," he explains.

"You shouldn't have to give up-"

"My bachelor pad?" He interrupts, "It has a great view of the city, sure, but your place feels much more like home."

"Okay," she says slowly. She falls silent for a few moments as she looks around the table. He watches her throat constrict as she swallows. She looks at him again, her hand moving back to his thigh as she rubs it reassuringly. "Harvey, this is a huge step."

"I care about you," he supplies with a shrug, "And you're my favorite person in the whole world. It really doesn't seem like a big deal to me."

"Can we just talk about it when we get home?" She asks.

He smirks at her reference but offers her a nod. She shakes her head and lightly taps his leg. He can see that she's smiling, and he thinks he's won this round. He was going to talk about it with her depending on how satisfied she seemed about the results of dinner anyway. He can tell she's only slightly caught off guard by the conversation, knowing that he's that serious about someone an obvious relief to her even though she is mildly scared about the level of commitment.

"So," Jenna says, settling her palms onto the table with a loud noise, "Who's your maid of honor?"

"Jenna," Donna squeals. Her mouth drops open and hangs there for a moment. He can't help smiling at her response although he's really curious to hear a verbal response on the matter. He doesn't have a ring picked out or anything, but he has an idea of what ring he might get her. She's just the only woman he's ever wanted around for his whole life. "Don't scare him off. It took me thirteen years to get him this far."

"You're not going to scare me off," he reassures. He reaches for her hand again and threads their fingers together. He lifts her hand to his mouth and presses a kiss against her skin. "Nothing could keep me away from you."

She shakes her head there. She peels her hand from his grasp and he feels her fingers press against his jaw, fingers trailing against his skin and thumb sweeping over his chin. He relishes her fingers on his skin as he settles both feet on the ground and leans into her touch. The waiter quickly brings out the food and Harvey absently wonders how much time it's been since they've ordered. The table begins eating their meals.

About 5 minutes into the hums and mutters during the chatter while eating, he feels her hand slide over to his leg and squeeze. He looks over at her then, gaze sharpened on her. She lifts her hand back to her fork and points out a cut off piece of chicken for him. He stabs a piece of his ribeye and exchanges forks with her.

He takes a bite and offers her a half nod of approval. She takes her bite and nearly melts into her seat. He reaches his left hand over to her lap, continuing to eat his food. His fingers circle her thigh, subsequently slipping between her legs. She gasped and looks at him. She shakes her head and squeezes her legs tighter together. He gives her a sheepish grin, the contact completely unintentional.

His phone starts vibrating in his pocket. He sets down his fork and pulls his hand from her leg to fish the device out of his pocket. He stretches his leg out in front of him to give himself better access. He doesn't bother glancing at the screen before he leans over to drop it into her purse, the soft buzzing sound echoing against something in the large, expensive bag.

"He's better than the last one," Aaron says. Harvey lifts his gaze to see that Aaron is gesturing to him but looking directly at Donna. He sits a little taller even though slightly annoyed that loser Mitchell is being brought up. "He didn't even bother looking at his phone."

"He doesn't even know how to answer a phone," Donna jests.

"Ha ha," Harvey replies. His narrowed gaze sharpens in her direction. He picks his fork up again and shakes his head. "I have called you. Just because I prefer face to face communication doesn't mean I've never called you before. Besides, you've let yourself into my apartment more times than I've shown up unannounced at yours."

"You've let yourself in every night for the last week," she reminds him with a grin.

Her finger lightly taps against his chest really close to his shoulder. Her hand runs down his sternum, absently grazes over his groin region, and comes to a stop on his thigh. She's either taunting him as payback or she can't help herself. He tilts his head, his leg jolting upward beneath her palm. He releases a breath to steady himself. He shrugs, her fingers flexing against his leg. She turns her attention back to her food. She's struggling to eat with her left hand, but she's still better than most people would be. He can barely handle the tap, tap, tap of her fingers so close to his groin.

He sighs and swallows his last bite of his ribeye. He sets his fork down on the plate and turns more fully towards her. He works his foot to her heel where she has one leg crossed over the other. She retracts her hand from his leg and continues working on the mixed vegetables on her plate. He watches her avoid the red potatoes before sighing in defeat because she's full.

She gestures him to her plate. He leans forward, reaching for her fork, and proceeds to stab the lightly buttered potato. His knee presses into her chair as he drops his left hand to her knee. He munches on the rest of her potatoes while the rest of the table finishes up their meals. His fingers splay against her white skin as he slides his hand further up her thigh and pushes it back down to her knee.

He discards the fork and offers her a small smile. He watches her swallows, her throat squeezing tight as her lips part. She's staring intensely at Emily across the table as the woman asks a question. He doesn't quite hear her question but he supposes it isn't directed towards him because Donna extends a hand and replies. He loves when she speaks wildly with her hands; he feels like she's letting her guard down and allowing her true self to be seen.

He lifts his hand from her leg and into her hair, pushing the hair out of her face. He knows she's deep into the conversation, but he can't help himself. He leans towards her and lightly presses a kiss against her jaw just below her ear. Her hand lifts into his hair, fingers sliding through it, and she holds him there for a few long moments. He smiles against her skin, he can't help the way she's always making him smile, and nuzzles his nose down the length of jawbone. He presses his lips against the corner of her mouth before pulling back.

Her fingers slide out of his hair with his movement and trail over his torso. Her fingers continue tapping against his leg like they were before. He catches the tail end of the conversation and realizes they are going over the details of when two friends turned into more than friends. He inhales a sharp breath as her hand settles on his inner thigh, her fingers wrapped around his leg.

"So I'm guessing the sex is good for you then," Emily ventures. He sees Jenna reach towards Emily and pat her arm reassuringly. It's just occurring to him that they are a couple who went from just friends to more.

Donna shoots a look at him and he swallows in response. He really doesn't know the context of the conversation. The answer is yes, of course it's yes. It's the best sex of his entire life. He never knew being in love with someone he was having sex with would make it so much better but, alas, he knows now that he would never let things go back to the way they once were. He has everything he could have ever wanted and more than he deserves.

"We deprived ourselves of it for thirteen years," he ultimately says.

"Oh please," Donna mutters, "We were _both_ having sex with other people."

"But _I_ wasn't having sex with _you_ ," he replies, "And most of the time I wanted to be."

"Bullshit," she says, eyebrows furrowed in disbelief.

"Seriously," he says, voice raising an octave louder than is necessarily, "I'm glad I don't have to deprive myself of the most beautiful woman in the room anymore."

"We need to get your head checked," she murmurs, "This is not the Harvey Specter I've known all these years."

"Shut up," he counters with a grin, "I am exactly the man you always wanted me to be."

Her eyes twinkle as her chin points downward, a devilish look resting in her eyes. They maintain eye contact for a few moments, the coyness playing on her tongue as they convey unspoken words and phrases. He feels his hips gravitate towards her, a slight pulsating in his groin, and he absently taps his fingers against the table top. She exhales there, her warm breath permeating the space between them until it touches his lips.

"So, to answer your question," Donna finally says, sliding her gaze back to Emily, "It's the best sex of our lives. And he's incredibly good-looking, which helps _a lot_."

His grin widens at the last part of her statement. He sits taller and he knows he looks smug. The back of her hand collides with his stomach and he recoils instinctively. His hand wraps around her wrist and pushes up her arm in response, his fingertips dragging back down her skin and causing goose bumps to rise on her arm.

"Plus you're madly in love with him," Clara supplies.

"That too," Donna softly agrees. She shrugs nonchalantly and shifts her gaze to him once more. She turns her hand over in his, fingers wrapping around his. He feels more relaxed than normal, like she's been soothing him with her touch all night. Perhaps that had been the point of touching each other anyhow. "Who would have thought we'd be so happy together?"

"Me," he supplies with a grin, "I always knew we were meant to be together."

"Sucker," she teases.

She leans towards him and he happily meets her halfway. He presses a kiss to her mouth, her fingers threading with the hair at the nape of his neck. He feels really proud of himself.

"I hate to break this up, but we gotta head home," Michael interjects.

"Yeah," Clara adds, "We only have the babysitter for another half hour."

"It was nice to meet you," Harvey says, standing up and extending a hand for Michael to shake. He quickly returns his hand to the top of Donna's head. She looks up at him and he offers her a quick glance. "Dinner's on me."

"Are you sure?" Jenna asks.

"He's good for it," Donna adds. He narrows his gaze on her while he smirks. He reaches for her hand and he's relieved when she takes it. "He'll let you buy the next one."

The waiter brings the check and Harvey digs into his wallet for his credit card. The rest of Donna's friends say their goodbyes before promptly departing the restaurant. He sits back down to wait for the waiter to bring back his credit card. He taps his palms against her knees, which prompts her to move her legs.

"How do you think it went?" He asks.

"I think they're in love with you," she comments.

"Too bad," he replies, "I'm happily taken."

She grins and pushes herself to her feet. She reaches for her jacket but before he can help her into it the waiter returns with his card. He signs away on the line. He grabs his own jacket and pulls it up his arms.

"How did I get so lucky?" She finally says. He feels her hands press against his ribs and he can't help hooking a finger beneath her chin. He leans down and kisses her, his fingers tapping against her jaw.

A few brief moments later, he pulls back. He looks her in the eye and reaches for her hand. He says, "I'm the lucky one."

He spins her towards the door and wraps his arm around her. He leads her towards the door, muttering thanks to the woman at the door. He's just beginning to learn that happiness is an actual feeling.


End file.
